Lyrics

Murder in the village, Sir Roger's driving in Suspicion points the finger at irascible Miss Pym But she's a red herring, and so is Mr Pool The handyman and janitor who creeps around the school There is no bigger picture, no close analysis The English have no theory, they just celebrate what is There is no corpse in evidence, there's just a sneaking cringe And what it is is what it is and that will never change Murder in the village, the investigation plods along Is anything more English than dying on the lawn? Mustn't grumble, I suppose, we'd better carry on Murdering and murdering 'til everybody's gone Murder in the village, everyone's to blame The victim and the murderer are one and the same The villagers are done to death, the vicar's in the ditch But lo, here comes Sir Roger now, with slow Inspector Inch Sir Roger blames the gypsies encamped down in the trench Inspector Inch says at a pinch it could have been the French Unless it was the malcontents who kill people with bombs With their weird intense convictions and their cod-religious songs Murder in the village, conclusions crowd anew Is anything more English than a killing with a view? Mustn't grumble, I suppose, we ought to carry on Murdering and murdering 'til everybody's gone Sunset on the empire, sunset on the state Reality is stretching now, it must be getting late If the killer strikes tomorrow he is sure to strike tonight Will the last living Englishman please turn off the light? The vicar's at the slaughterhouse, Inch is watching Morse The gypsies are assembled in the dell beyond the golf course But Sir Roger, as he falls asleep, is having an idea Of course, he thinks, I've been a fool, I see what's happened here! Everybody did it, no cause for alarm Is anything more English than the cricket of self-harm? For everybody's sake we cannot carry on Murdering and murdering 'til everybody's gone